me out. But I couldnât let Oz down. Not now, not ever. He was all Iâd got.
When George called me down to eat I mumbled something about cutting myself on some barbed wire and asked if theyâd got a first-aid kit. Doreen pointed to thecupboard under the sink. I sorted myself a plaster and gave a mental thumbs-up when I saw all the bandages, antiseptic creams and packets of gauze.
Weighed down by what I was planning, I sat at the table watching Doreen dish up some strange-looking stew that had dark slimy things floating round with the meat. When I asked what they were she said they were prunes . Weird. Sheâd got her own catering company, making dinners for people who wanted to impress their bosses without getting their hands dirty, and it looked like we were getting the leftovers from some clientâs party. Still, anything was better than cold baked beans out of the tin, which is what Iâd been living on since Mum died. My eyes flicked to the extension off the kitchen which was fitted out with fridges, freezers and stainless steel units stacked with all Doreenâs catering stuff. I wasnât supposed to go in there and as for Oz . . . well, I wonât mention what Doreen said sheâd do to him if he even took a sniff in that direction.
Mum said her relationship with Doreen had always been tricky but it crashed and burned when Mum went and called her a neurotic, stuck-up, pain in the neck. Spot on, if you ask me. But if youâre singing at your sisterâs wedding thereâs probably some musiciansâ law that says youâre sâposed to turn the microphone off before you start slagging off the bride. Mum was sorry afterwards and said sheâd only done it because sheâd had a bit too much to drink. Trouble was, Mum had done a lot of stupid things because sheâd had a bit too much to drink, like cadging that lift home from the Trafalgar Arms withsome bloke she didnât even know and getting smashed up in a car crash. Donât get me wrong, I loved my mum and she loved me, and just thinking about her is like getting tasered and thrown against an electric fence. But what with the problems with Eddy, the money worries and her getting so depressed all the time, Iâd been scared for a while that something bad might happen to her. And then it did.
George was doing his best, piling veg on my plate and asking if I was musical like Mum and what my favourite subjects were at school. But Doreen tapping her nails on her wine glass and giving me the evil eye didnât exactly help to keep the chit-chat flowing. Youâd never think she was Mumâs sister, not in a million years. I mean, Doreen was fair where Mum had been dark and she was bony where Mum had been what she called âcurvyâ, and she had a hard pointy face and small blue-ish eyes, whereas Mumâs face had been soft and pretty and her big dark eyes had been her best feature. Doreen also had tiny lines round her mouth that got deeper whenever she looked at me.
George was a big bloke, ex-Royal Engineers, but one squawk from Doreen and he turned into a total wuss. He even called her Dilly â which made me want to puke. Though to be fair, I didnât rate his chances if he ever crossed her. He didnât seem to notice heâd married a harpy and he spent most of his time gazing at her as if he couldnât believe his luck. But he was looking at me now, telling me heâd be going to Germany soon to pitch for some big contract and he was glad Doreen would have me forcompany while he was away. You should have seen the look she gave him.
Guess what, Doreen? Being stuck with you isnât top of my wish list either .
Still, at least while I was here no one was going to be asking me if I wanted to âtalk about itâ. âCourse I didnât. What was there to say? Mum was dead. End of.
I offered to wash up. Doreen wasnât keen; she said she liked things